Voodoo Doll
by Rainbow Fruit Loop
Summary: "Oh, how ironic. He's seen everyone he loves die in a blaze. He sometimes wonders if God's punishing him for being happy when so many people are hurting. He wonders why everything he touches turns to dust." In which Matt finds Mello after the explosion. Rated for dark themes, blood and suicide. Matt/Mello. Short one-shot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, or any of its characters. It's tragic, I know. Then again, if I owned it, Light's death would have been a whole lot more violent… All credit goes to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.

Author's note: Hey guys~ Now, I must admit; this is the darkest thing I've written as so far. I surprise myself with my obvious happiness… Anywho, this is just something I wrote on the bus ride home on a scrap bit of paper. Random, I know.  
Also, I always consider Mello to be Mihael up until he leaves the orphanage, and then, when he leaves, _that's _when he becomes all Mello-ish. So, uh, yeah.

Please, please review. I like reviews. A lot. They inspire me to keep writing happy fics like this!~

_~Rainbow Fruit Loop (:_

* * *

_~Voodoo Doll~_

He feels a bit like a Voodoo doll. One of those strange, weird little dolls with the blank, dead eyes and the stitched-up lips.

(Creepy. Empty. Dead.)

A Voodoo doll.

(Except it's the other way round. It's the _wrong _way round.)

As he walks into the burning, smoke-filled room, he feels his chest restrict, and his breaths start coming out in shallow pants.

And he knows that it's not because of the thick smoke hanging, lazy, in the air, or fear of the slow, yet powerful fire, it's because - even though he can't _see _Mello - he can feel it.

He can feel Mello's pain.

But it's strange. He's only ever felt _Mello's_ pain. It was always only ever Mello, even when they weren't best friends; when they weren't lovers.

(And he wonders what it is about Mello that's so special.)

When Matt could do nothing but watch his parents burn to death in a fiery car crash he didn't feel their pain. Their terrified, agonizing screams rang out in his ears as he stretched a scrawny, bruised arm out to his mother, but he didn't feel _their _pain. It was only _his _pain.

(Didn't he love them enough? Was he selfish feeling only his pain? And why Mello?)

No. Matt was horrified back then – the pain of an innocent child finally becoming conscious of the evil, broken, corrupt state of the world – but being terrified and being tortured are two completely different things.

Matt wanders around the ruins of the building - peering into cracks, and lifting up burning bits of wood - and wonders what Mello could have done that was so dramatic that it resulted in an explosion.

"Hey, Mels?" Matt calls out, forcing his voice to stay calm.

(If he's not brave, then who will be?)

"Where are you? I've come to rescue you~ You can thank me later."

Silence. It's an unnatural silence. If he strains his ears, Matt can hear a dull crackling of the fire, and things breaking and falling with a soft _-thud- _on the ground. But it's still so silent.

So silent.

"Come on, Mels. This isn't the time to play hard to get." Matt chuckles humourlessly to himself, and feels the panic rising in his throat. "You know you've got me already."

His voice echoes in the large room, and he hopes that Mello can hear him.

(He doesn't quite know why he's joking around. Maybe because he's got that heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, the feeling telling him that something bad has happened.)

He can feel Mello's pain increasing, and it hurts so much that he wants to cry. He doesn't know what's worse. Mello's pain, or his own.

(It hurts so much. Voodoo doll love; what an eerie life.)

"Mihael…" Matt murmurs to himself, his actions becoming just a _bit _more frantic. "Where are you…?" Because Mello's not under _that _bit of wood, or under _that _bit of fallen ceiling, and he's certainly not under _that _bit of leather sofa.

And then Matt feels it. The pain from his chest suddenly lessens and disappears, and he's left with an unsettling dull ache in his stomach.

(He was just too late.)

His hands are black from the dusty ash, and his fingertips are a glowing red; burned from playing with fire.

(They always told him that if you played with fire you got burned.)

(And then he realises that Mello's favourite colours are black and red. Matt wonders what it all means. Because black and red are the colours of death.)

Fire.

Death.

But then he sees it. A shining halo of golden hair glowing modestly in the blackened room.

A tortured smirk tugs at the corners of Matt's lips, and he laughs quietly - sadly - to himself, the noise sounding like a poignant melody to his ears.

(Oh, how ironic. He's seen everyone he loves die in a blaze. He sometimes wonders if God's punishing him for being happy when so many people are hurting.)

He wonders why everything he touches turns to dust.

(He warned Mello, this time, though. But Mello didn't believe him. Guess his faith in Matt was a mistake.)

Slowly; with a cautious precision, Matt makes his way over to Mello.

Matt realises that he's never seem Mello look so beautiful. His gorgeous, delicate face is turned upwards towards the sky, shining light from the sun flooding through the broken roof and highlighting his beauty.

Matt wonders if he was he praying in his last minutes.

Mello's eyes have slipped shut; thick, dark lashes brushing against surprisingly pale cheeks. Blood is staining his full lips, and Matt can't help but to think that they look strangely enticing.

And it's then that Matt realises that Mello's body is splayed out like a sacrifice.

(Mello's a martyr. A beautiful, brave, bloody martyr.)

Matt crouches down, and pushes Mello's singed fringe to the side.

"Hey, Mels. Found ya." He whispers, the tears already starting to well up in his eyes. "…Game Over."

Because his grubby fingers are wrapped around Mello's pale, thin wrist, and he can't feel anything.

(No pulse.)

Matt leans forwards, and brushes ash and dust off of Mello's leather vest, before gently lowering his ear to where his lover's heart rests beneath a layer of once creamy white skin.

(No heartbeat.)

Matt pulls his head upwards, and instead focuses intensely on the restful movement of Mello's chest. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

(Ah, but of course, it's just wishful thinking. Mello's already taken his last breath, and Matt hates how it was filled with ash and blood and smoke and fear.)

"Mihael…" Matt murmurs into the silence.

Because, really, he was always 'Mihael' to Matt. Even though Mello always considered Mihael to be a distant dream - an existence blurring and fading from reality - he was always Mihael.

(Mihael. The name of an angel, with a face to harmonize, and an attitude from Hell.)

But 'Mello' never really was an identity, not to Matt, at least - it was a name given so that Mihael didn't have to be afraid anymore; a persona to hide behind because he was just too scared to face the world as himself – unadorned, exposed, alone.

(But he always had Mail, even if he couldn't see it.)

But Mail is Matt now, and everything's changed. But even though Matt is still there for Mello, he wishes that they were Mihael and Mail instead of Mello and Matt. Because Mihael and Mail were love, but Mello and Matt are lust.

But maybe lust was okay when you couldn't have love. The second best.

(Second best. But Matt was always third, and he doesn't know what comes after lust. Maybe it's death.)

"C'mon, Mihael. Don't die. Not here, not now. Remember everything that we were going to do together? Beat Near-"

(Because Mello needed Matt if he wanted to win, and they both knew it, even if Mello refused to admit it.)

(Pride… what a waste of an emotion.)

"-kill Kira, screw the Mafia over, and then rob that chocolate shop. Remember?"

Hysterical giggles are escaping Matt's lips, and his entire body is trembling with raw emotion.

(Mello doesn't reply. Mello _can't _reply.)

At the lack of response (he wasn't expecting one anyway), Matt slowly stretches himself out, and lies down next to Mello's lifeless body. Gently, he places his hand over Mello's heart, and sighs despondently to himself.

"Don't do this, please…"

Matt's overwhelmed with guilt, because he promised Mello they'd die _together_, and he doesn't like breaking his promises. But then maybe he thinks that promises are _made _to be broken.

"You're making me hurt, Mello…"

Matt feels a bit like a Voodoo doll.

(Creepy. Empty. Dead.)

But Mello doesn't have to be alone now.

Because, out of the corner of his eye, Matt can see it. A shining shard of smooth glass, looking just sharp enough to end a life.

He reaches out for the shard, and pulls it closer towards his body. Experimentally, he digs the sharpest corner into his wrist, and watches in a sick satisfaction as small droplets of blood trail down his arm.

(Definitely sharp enough to end a life.)

Matt's never liked blood, and he's scared of the pain, but he doesn't know how he could live in a world without Mihael.

He squeezes his eyes closed before he thrusts the glass into his wrist, and drags it across; slicing open delicate veins.

(He doesn't want to watch his life fade out of his body in gushes of scarlet.)

And, as his body is enveloped in a burning, vicious pain, he wonders if Mello can feel it.

He wonders if Mello can feel his pain.

_Hold on, Mels. Wait for me there. I'm coming._


End file.
